


The Lowtown Lowdown

by tondratic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tondratic/pseuds/tondratic
Summary: A collection of short stories in and around Kirkwall, scattered through time and space.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Kudos: 4





	1. When it Rains

They have a saying in Kirkwall: “when it rains, it pours.” The saying held true most days, in the seaside metropolis. The wind buffeted the walls of Gamlen’s shanty, tucked away in the slums of Lowtown, lifting helpless litter off the street and sweeping it along with the rain. Inside the house, Hawke had begun to arrange the various pots, cups, and bowls to catch the occasional leak. They now covered most of the floor.

The continuous plinking of water and the whistling of the wind through the myriad of cracks was finally loud enough to rouse Hawke’s uncle from dormancy. He emerged, trailing curses and upended containers.

“Dammit girl, what in god’s name have you done to my floor?” 

A group of chipped glasses clattered around him. “Blast!”

Hawke glanced up.

“Evening, uncle. Good to see you upright and chipper again.” She put down a card. “Mind lowering your voice a bit? Mother’s finally asleep.”

Gamlen scoffed. “Moping, more likely,” he said, though in a slightly softer tone. “What’ve I told you about gambling?”

“That you wish you were better at it?”

“Especially gambling with the dog!”

“Oh, I think that was: ‘How in the Void did I lose to someone who licks his own arse?’, uncle.”

Gamlen pulled up a chair. “Deal me in.”

* * *

It was a slow night in Kirkwall; a favourite of the Guard. The burglars, conspirators, and gangs preferred to stay dry as much as the next man, and, by virtue of their profession, usually had much more comfortable alternatives to the gurgling streets than their less criminal neighbours. The City Guard still needed to patrol, of course, but at least there was less of a chance of seeing anything unfortunate, or getting shanked before you do.

Aveline Vallen did not believe in chance.

She was setting a steady pace through Lowtown, staying under eaves and awnings as much as she could. Pointless, though; the rain was almost horizontal, its hiss drowning out anything other people wouldn’t want her to hear.

Guardsman Donnic had the satchel tonight. Whatever else was in it, it also held the man’s life. And she couldn’t protect it alone.

She needed Hawke.

* * *

Varric puffed along behind the two women. “How did _I_ get dragged into this, again?” he asked.

Ah, Lowtown mud. If nothing else, it had a unique odour. An odour which was now all over his boots. Wonderful.

“Because you would never abandon a friend in need. Also, Aveline threatened to crack a mug over your head,” Hawke called back.

“Ah, right.”

Stupid puddles. A dwarf could drown in one of those! He glanced sidelong at Hawke’s dog.

“Say, any chance I could just hop on your ba-”

Teeth flashed. Surprisingly white, he must say. Hawke probably brushed them. “Forget I asked.”

They rounded a corner. There were a lot more masked guys with weapons there than Varric liked to see at three in the morning.

Bianca, however, was _ecstatic_.


	2. Arishocked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke saves a city by the skin of her teeth, hoping this won't set a precedent. Joke's on her.

There was really quite a lot of pain around her midsection. This was strange, because the last thing Hawke remembered was deciding to storm the Keep to fight a rather large and angry horde…of…Qunari. Ah.

Suddenly, seeing the Arishok angle his axe toward her head made a lot more sense. Hawke rolled to avoid the impact, leaving a scarlet trail on the floor behind her. The action was dizzying, which was really inconvenient because she had to _think_ . Her staff, which left her gauntleted grip sometime during the battle, was within walking distance. _Walking distance,_ in Hawke’s current situation, was a similar concept to _flying and living in the clouds_. Instead, she crawled toward the thing, as if holding a magical stick would solve everything. It never had before: not with father, nor Bethany, nor mother. Hardheadedness was always her virtue, though. So she crawled.

She had quite a lot of mana left, but that was trickling steadily out of her as more of her blood pooled on the floor. She needed to hit the Arishok with something big, and _fast_.

 _Faster would be better_ , she reasoned, as the Qunari’s fist closed around her throat and lifted her face-to-face with its owner. Sharp pin pricks of his nails bit the back of her neck, digging in as the rest of the hand choked her. Zealous, baleful eyes glared into those of the trembling mage.

She jabbed them.

Her wheeze as she gulped in a lungful of air was drowned out by the Arishok’s surprised roar. Hawke went to her knees, grabbed her staff, and shoved it into the Arishok’s gaping mouth. Lightning erupted from the offending end, arcing gracefully even as it bathed the Arishok’s face in ghastly light.

It was the Qunari’s turn to go to his knees, but unlike the mage, he continued falling and did not rise again.

 _So. I defeated a Qunari war leader by poking him in the eyes. Brilliant._ She seriously hoped Varric would pretty the whole ordeal up. _If he mentions the part about me running around the throne room for three hours to avoid getting rammed, my restless spirit will haunt him for eternity._

Colourful shapes swam across her vision as her face speedily made its impact with the floor. There was a hard _crack_ as she landed on her cheek, and the newborn pain joined the myriad of others in her body.

_Aw. I hope it settles in well._

Her eyes sluggishly focused to discover the many pairs of feet that had suddenly appeared around her head. She did not appreciate this, as Hawke’s face and other people’s feet were usually as far apart from each other as they could comfortably get.

Due to Hawke’s limited mobility, however, there was little else to do but examine them. Without exception, every shoe and boot bore splotches of dirt and blood. Many were shifting restlessly, anxious. Uncertain.

_Well, don’t look at me. I tried stepping up, and look where it got us._

She couldn’t actually remember _where_ she was, or how she got to be there, but she felt like things could have gone better.

A pair of feet, shoeless and tattooed with silver lyrium, strode towards her, stepping on a few toes along the way.

 _Heh. Appropriate…_ was the last thing she thought before blackness swallowed everything.


End file.
